Music & Lyrics

Let’s hit this line of cocaine,
Our PSet’s due in a day.
Chug another cup of coffee,
Then I’ll hit the books and pray (for an A!)
Sleep now, or pass the class
Now I wonder why
That I took a 9AM course,
Oh God just please let me die.

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Bare asses and all, we’re flashing,
Taking laps of victory,
Towards Harvard’s statues we’re dashing
Past the Crimson, hurriedly.
Restless, the crowds are forming
Better make sure you’re not last;
We’ll streak through the yards of Harvard,
’Til our last finals are passed.

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Down the fairway
Through the green’ry
Miss the sand traps and the bluffs!
Trim the hedges,
Get your wedges
If you’re too deep in the rough…
Whack it once more
Then you yell FORE (MARK!)
(Make sure to pull out the pole!)
Hit the soft ground
On the edge now
And the ball goes in the hole!

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Oh, you’re an alcoholic, drink in your hand.
You love your liquor, that is why you
Joined the Harvard Marching Band.
Dancing in a stupor chugging beers with haste (CHUG, CHUG, CHUG)
You need a drink my friend, ’cause you’re a waste.

Oh, you’re a fucking pre-med, scum of the earth.
You live in Cabot, eat bag lunches, never go out without your trusty
Orgo books and models, four color pens (CLICK, CLICK, CLICK)
You’ll go to med school but you’ll have no friends.

Oh, you’re a fucking Gov jock, scourge of your class.
You do the reading just so you can kiss your teaching fellow’s ass.
Wanted to be in power, Kennedy anew.
You won’t be president ’cause we’ll shoot you too.

Oh, you’re a Band Alumnus, sitting in the stands.
You think we love you, but it’s really just your money that we are after.
Belly getting wider, no hair on your head.
You can’t keep coming ’cause you’ll soon be dead.

Oh, you’re a new band staffie, drink on your head.
You think you’re lucky, but in a week you’ll wish that you were dead.
Basketball on weeknights, gigs without fail–
Soon you’ll be counting down the days to yale (we’re free!)

Oh, you’re a bandie couple, joined at the hip
You think you’re really cute, but in reality you simply make us sick.
Necking on the raunch bus, where are your hands?
Do what you want my friend, but not in band!

Oh, we’re the senior staff, we rule the land
Freshman think we’re cool ’cause they don’t know how much time we spend on band
Blowing off our theses, sleeping through each class,
But look out, cause you’ve got to kiss our ass!

Oh, you’re an active crustie, eons in the band
If you stay longer, the freshmen will become the senior staff (again!)
Scamming on the first years, your classmates all have wives,
You’re trapped in Cambridge ’cause the Band’s your life.

Oh, you’re a Band room addict, staying there for days.
You never go home, you have given all the bugs and rodents names.
Roomies calling HUPD, thinking you were dead.
You need to sleep sometime in your own bed!

Oh, you’re a fucking nympho, dick in your hand.
You give great blow jobs, that is why your mouth is always in demand.
Tying men to bedposts, sucking ’til they’re sore (SLURP, SLURP, SLURP)
You’ll die of syphilis ’cause you’re a whore! (TEAM FUCK!)

Oh you’re a fucking commie, sickle in your hand
You love the people, as long as they work all day and farm the land
Glorious republic, equal as can be (RED RED RED)
What could go wrong with this, let’s wait and see!

Oh you’re a Band Room Cockroach, we hate your guts,
Infiltrate boy’s bathroom, now we only have two stalls for many butts
You are procreating, you are roach with cock (cock! cock! cock!)
Go find a finals club around the block.

Oh you’re the new pandemic, making students Zoom
No storage or money, just a lot of badly answered FAQs
You think we can just leave, so fuck you Bacow (E-va-cu-ate!)
See, it’s not so bad to be a sophomore now 😉

Oh you’re a blow up alien, up to no good
First you were creepy, then someone thought to make you the star of bood
Now you’re floating freely, thinking you have clout (clout! clout! clout!)
But don’t forget your roots: we ate you out

Oh you’re the nicest bandie,
Kind without fail,
We really love you,
Even when we’re sad, your sweetness will prevail,
Set-up train’s your favorite,
Drive the prop crew van, (van van van)
We’re just so blessed to have you in the band

Oh you’re a slut for sausage
Meat is the best, you eat all types
Big ones, small ones, thi-ick and thin ones
Slurping on a sausage, juice all down your chin
(slurp, slurp, slurp)
We know you love it, but Clean. Your. Face.

Oh, You’re a rotting pumpkin, from a pumpkin patch
Why are you so orange, creepy as fuck like the POTUS
You have mushy insides, must remove the slop (slop slop slop)
You are not the best of this season’s crop

Oh you’re a f(rea)king Ec snake, Comping HFAC,
You’re still recruiting, Morgan Stanley’s never gonna call you back.
Networking with bandies, Don’t tax the rich, (rich rich rich)
You’ll work for Goldman but you’ll be their [REDACTED].

Oh you’re a part of prop crew, vital to the Band,
You wear white jumpsuits; pulling Bertha, helping draw the field lines and.
Making show props phallic, always drive the van (Van! Van! Van!)
It’s a little roomie in that uniform Rehan

Oh you’re a lampoon writer, likely white and rich
You think you’re funny, but you’re really just a racist, sexist fuck
Borderline illegal comps aren’t really great (haze, haze, haze!)
Being problematic’s not a personality trait

Oh, you’re a fucking pre-law, case books in your bag.
You think you’re Elle Woods, take the LSAT, morals won’t apply to me I’ll
Never work pro bono, just lock up the poor (obJECTion!)
Cross me, that’s libel, I’ll see you in court.

Oh you’re a fucking sophomore
Never eating food
You get in line last but there’s never any fucking bagels left
Hear the studcon yelling “music rehearsal”l ( fuck fuck fuck)
You need to eat my friend but not today

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RECIP-R-O-C-A-T-E
This one’s for you lazy fuck-boys
You make girls give you head all day
Then you don’t return the favor
But see it doesn’t work that way
What are you so afraid of?
Get on your knees, stick out your tongue
Don’t be a pussy, just eat that pussy
Until you make that woman come!

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I demand cunnilingus,
Lick me ’til I’m sore;
Come twist my nipples ’til I scream for more (Oh baby!)
Little dabs with the tongue,
Give me the pleasure I crave —
It may be skeezy, but if you don’t please me,
You won’t get laid.

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No hope for bandies
Can’t get a lower score
Checked off the BR
And statues galore (Oh, Johnny!)
We’ve done it all
Sexplotations and more
Worse comes to worst, just rewrite the verse to be more cursed

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It’s a long, long way to Currier,
It’s a nice long walk unless you’re in a hurry
But if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be
You can always take the shuttle bus for free!
We’ve got a grille that really kicks some ass
And a nautilus from the river second class
So give us a hey, hey for Currier
That’s where ________ lives!

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We smoke MJ, MJ, MJ,
There’s never a brownie could stone us this way,
smoke it, toke it, choke! *cough cough*
See how we stumble, laughing, through the night,
where’s that Taco Bell, I need a fucking bite.
Oh, look at the way we trip through time and space,
Blinky turns to me and says “I can’t feel my face.”
Let out the smoke right now, again inhale,
gettin’ baked while we send hub_ba an email.
Dude, we’re high – high at Harvard,
for the Crimson is blazed!

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Oh No!
Oh no! Harvard’s endowment is coal-ward bound again.
Funding fuel that comes from fossils,
Just to please our board of old white men!
Buy fifty shares of BP,

Those whales don’t need a home,
Since we bought crude, we’re all screwed,
You’re on your own!

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Roar, Lions, roar. Bite the nipples off a sow named Sally.
Fight, fight for Knickerbocker Beer.
Roll those sons of bitches down the alley of Columbia (what?)
Fallundia! (oh!) If it has hair, they’ll eat it.
Roar, Lions, roar (Lions, roar!). Your alma mater is a goddamn whore.

We all smoke dope, and some shoot up while all the rest drop acid.
We all were premeds at the start,
But four years has taught us all the wonders of philosophy (what?)
Art History (oh!), and a B. A. degree ’cause
We all smoke dope. Our alma mater takes another toke.
(We all throw up–bleh)

C-U-M-B
And though the funding now may tally
Fight, fight, for orgo night and more
While the sons of blue jacket’s ever rally round
Defunded? (what?) Refunded! (oh)
C-U-M-b all over
C-U-M-B, your alma mater is a goddamn bore

Roar, hipster, roar.
While in the city you explore
Fight, fight for everybody’s rights,
Before you have to sell out just to keep the lights
Your B.A. in (what?) Art History (oh)
Live with Mom and Dad, for-ev-er
Roar, a New York, Roar,
With rent and loans 1 million more

High above Cayuga’s waters, there’s an awful smell.
Some say it’s Cayuga’s waters, I say it’s Cornell.

Cornell eats shit (it), Cornell eats shit (it), Cornell eats (shit) it raw (raw raw raw).
Some say it’s Cayuga’s waters; I say it’s Cornell.
High above Cayuga’s waters, there’s a small hotel.
Cornell students go to Heaven ’cause they live in hell.
Cornell eats shit (it), Cornell eats shit (it), Cornell eats shit (it) raw (raw raw raw).
Cornell students go to Heaven ’cause they live in hell.

High above Cayuga’s waters, there’s a font of knowledge.
Some say it’s Cornell University, I say it’s Ithaca College.
Cornell eats shit (it); Cornell eats shit (it); Cornell eats shit (it) raw. (raw raw raw)
Some say it’s Cornell University, Tom says it’s Ithaca College.

We are the Princeton Band
we don’t know what they mean
When people say we look like we are dressed for
Halloween
(Those silly)
Plaid jackets, boater hats
we got them at a picnic sale
And despite all our pomp
We still live in a swamp
But at least we’re not at yAle!

Oh, the Dartmouth name is stale, with their lyrics they do fail
With their fight songs they want clout, you can hear them “Harvard” shout; Don’t they know our foe is yAle?
Again their PR guy must cry, “Why won’t Harvard just reply?”
So they’ll pick new teams to fight, start new rivalries they might,
Stick to big greens, eat your kale >:)

We are ever true to Brown… (et similiter ad infinitum)

“Don’t send my boy to Dartmouth,”
The dying mother said,
“Don’t send my boy to Syracuse,
“When I am cold and dead.
“Don’t send my boy to Princeton,
“Or even to Cornell.
“But as for Pennsylvania,
“I’d see him first in hell.”
To hell, to hell with Pennsylvania.
To hell, to hell with Pennsylvania.
To hell, to hell with Pennsylvania.
To hell with the U. of P. (PU!)

To hell with yale; to hell with yale;
To hell with yale; … (et similiter ad infinitum)

Ohhh —————————,
The freshmen down at yale get no tail, get no tail. (2X)
To relieve their great frustration they resort to masturbation.
The freshmen down at yale get no tail.

The chaplain down at yale gets no tail, gets no tail. (2X)
His sex life is so bland he needs God to lend a hand.
The chaplain down at yale gets no tail.

The law students down at yale, they get tail, they get tail (2X)
If you want to be a judge, you just have to pack some fudge.
The law students down at yale, they get tail.

The hockey team down at yale gets no tail, gets no tail. (2X)
They hit the board so hard, they can’t stick it into lard.
The hockey team down at yale gets no tail.

The crew team down at yale gets no tail, gets no tail. (2X)
They think they’re such big jocks, but they have the smallest cocks.
The crew team down at yale gets no tail.

George Bush who’s from yale gets no tail, gets no tail. (2X)
With all his presidential clout, he can’t get Barbara to put out.
George Bush who’s from yale gets no tail.

George Bush who’s from yale gets no tail, gets no tail. (2X)
With a thousand points of light he still beats off every night.
George Bush who’s from yale gets no tail.

(Final Verse) The bulldog down at yale has no tail, has no tail. (2X)
After four years in those halls, he’s damn lucky he’s got balls.
The bulldog down at yale has no tail.

Boom Suck, asshole
Good morning, good Morning.
How’d you like to bite my ass?
Good morning, good morning.
One, two. Fuck you!
Three, four. On the floor.
Six, nine. Tastes fine.
Seventeen, eighteen. OOOH, go fuck yourself.
Have a nice day, asshole.

Boom Suck, friend
Good morning, good Morning
How’d you like to be my friend?
Good morning, good morning.
One, two. How are you?
Three, four. Fine thanks!
Six, nine. That doesn’t rhyme!
Seventeen, eighteen. OOOH,
Have a nice day, friend.

We’ll have a gang bang, oh yes we will
Because a gang bang gives me such a thrill.
When I was younger and in my prime,
I used to gang bang all the time.
But now I’m older and turning gray (turning gay!)
I only gang bang twice a day.

Ohh——,
Your mother is dead, and your father is dead,
And Kopechne is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your brother is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your son has one leg, and your wife’s name is Joan.
Ohh——,
Your mother is dead, and your father is dead,
And Kopechne is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your brother is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your son has one leg, and your wife is a lush.
Ohh——,
Your mother is dead, and your father is dead,
And Kopechne is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your brother is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your son has one leg, and your car doesn’t float.
Ohh——,
Your mother is dead, and your father is dead,
And Kopechne is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your brother is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your son has one leg, and your nephew can’t ski.
Ohh——,
Your mother is dead, and your father is dead,
And Kopechne is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your brother is dead, and your brother is dead,
And your son has one leg, and your nephew can’t fly.
Ohh——,
Your mother is alive, and your father is alive,
And Kopechne is alive, and your sister is alive,
And your brother is alive, and your sister is alive,
And your sister is alive, and you sister is alive,
And your sister is alive, and you all look good in blue.